“Why would you say that?”

She swipes at her cheeks with the backs of her hands. “Don’t pretend you like me just because you feel sorry for me.”

“I think you’ve done some rotten things, but the way you mother Claire is not one of them.”

She sniffs. “I just don’t think I was cut out for this mothering stuff. I love her, but some days I feel like…” She stops and takes a breath, and I can’t tell if she’s shocked by what she was about to say or if she’s simply trying to find the courage to say it out loud. “Like I sacrificed my own life the day she was born. And one hundred times worse than missing my life is how shitty I feel about myself for missing it.”

“I can help more, you know. Give me custody, and I’ll—”

“I was never going to fight you on that. I wouldn’t keep her from you.” She leans against the back of the inclined bed and deflates. “It’s not about the time she takes. It’s about not knowing who I am and feeling like no one wants me.”

“Can I ask you a question without you getting upset?” I flinch at my own terrible timing. I shouldn’t ask an upsetting question to a woman in the psych ward, but she seems like she’s in a sharing mood, and I could never bring myself to ask before.

“You want to know if I got pregnant on purpose?”

I draw in a breath. “Yeah.” More specifically, did she get pregnant on purpose in the hopes that Will would think it was his? But there’s no need to complicate the question yet.

“I really didn’t. I wasn’t ready for that.”

“I wish you would have admitted she was mine sooner.”

She shrugs. “I didn’t want to admit it to myself.”

“Ouch.”

“Obviously I was an idiot, and I’ve realized that now. It never occurred to me that, someday, you wouldn’t be there waiting when I needed you again. Then, yesterday, when you told me that you and Hanna had been broken up all summer, I realized that you weren’t refusing me just for her.” She cuts her gaze to me and then drops it back to her hands. “You really don’t want me. Just like him.” She doesn’t have to clarify for me to know that the him she’s talking about is Will. This has never stopped being about Will. Not since we were teenagers.

“Meredith…” But I don’t know what to say. I can’t be with her, and I can’t pretend things are different just because she’s in here.

“Thank you for being here today, but I’d like it if you left now. I’m tired.”

I cross the room, smooth her hair back from her face, and press a kiss to her forehead. “Let me know if you need anything.”

THE ONLY thing that surprises me more than Meredith’s agreeing to see me is that I came in the first place.

“Hey,” she says when I walk into her room. Her face is scrubbed clean, and she looks almost sweet. “Max said you came over to watch Claire. Thanks for that.”

“No problem.” I settle into a chair opposite her bed and try to pretend this isn’t as awkward as it is. “How are you feeling?”

“Like an idiot. A big, fat idiot.” Something like embarrassment passes over her face and she says, “Not that there’s anything wrong with being fat or…”

I sigh. Because, really, I’m not fat. Not anymore. I’m pregnant and my belly is heavy with growing twins, but I’m not fat. Maybe I will be again some day, or maybe I’ll be able to maintain a smaller size because I’ll be spending all my time running after the twins. But Meredith will probably always think of me as the fat girl because that makes her feel better about herself. But the difference between the old Hanna and the woman who stands here today is the understanding that her impression of me has more to do with her than it will ever have to do with me.

“I don’t like you,” Meredith says. “That’s never going to change.”

The feeling is so damn mutual, but I don’t say anything because she’s the one in the hospital bed, and unlike her, I don’t think saying it out loud is actually going to make me feel any better.

She scowls at me, and when I don’t reply, she says, “You honestly have no idea, do you?”

“Why you hate me?” I throw up my hands. “I just know that you were the girl who tripped me in the bleachers at high school football games. You were the one who made sure I knew all my body’s imperfections. I never did anything to you, and it seemed to me that my existence alone made you hate me.”

“Never did anything to me?” She rolls her eyes. “My father adored you.”

I blink at her.

“The American history teacher in high school?”

“I know who he is,” I say, shaking my head. “I just don’t know what he has to do with anything.”

“He was an ass**le, you know. Said the cruelest things to my mother, cheated on her”— she raises her gaze to meet mine—“with your mother.”

“What? My mother would never—”

“Oh, but she did. She was grieving for her husband and raising five girls on her own, and my father was the shoulder to cry on.” She releases a long, slow breath. “She didn’t care whose family she was destroying when she slept with him. She didn’t care how my mother would feel when he decided he couldn’t be with her anymore because he loved Gretchen too much. It was all so inconsequential to her, and after tearing apart my family, she cast him aside like he was nothing. Like mother, like daughter, I guess.”